Keyboard Clatter
by Somepatriot
Summary: Alfred's not one of THOSE fans. But, well, it was only one ship. Only one roleplay. But it turned into something so much more. USUK threeshot.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING: very minimal mentions of STony/superhusbands**

* * *

Alfred wasn't one of _those _fans. Kiku had simply made a very good point when it came to the relationship between Captain America and Tony Stark, and well, he grew to love them. Together. Which still kind of weirded him out, but he decided not to think about it.

After scrolling through thousands of pictures and reading one too many fanfictions (not the perverted ones, he swears.) Alfred finally progressed to the realm of role play, as all fans eventually do.

He knew just the place. Omegle had been part of his internet experience long before he got into shipping (and he still doesn't understand why they call it that) but with the clever use of common interests, Alfred began his journey.

_"Care to RP?"_ Was all the message said.

Little did Alfred know; this small message would get him into a lot more trouble than he could have ever imagined.

_"Sure. Can I be cap?" _Alfred typed back. He waited for the response, and upon receiving the affirmative, they started "RPing."

And they kept going.

And going.

And going.

And suddenly Alfred realized that it was five in the morning, and that he'd been sitting in front of the computer since lunchtime.

_"((Dude,))" _Alfred typed, remembering to use the double parenthesis like a good little Rper. _"((It's like 5AM here and I gotta run. It's been fun though.))"_

_"((No problem,))" _the person replied._ "((Thanks for the RP. Goodnight.))"_

And just like that, it was over. He hit disconnect. Yes, he was sure.

Done.

Alfred stared at the screen, amazed that he'd just spent so long working on something that won't ever be finished, and that it was a completely normal thing to do. He sighed, and rubbed his tried eyes. He pushed his laptop to the side and managed to stumble into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and taking a quick piss before falling back into bed and forgetting all about the RP.

Dreams quickly claimed him.

The next day, Alfred woke up slowly and with heavy eyes. His stomach was growling, and he had the strangest feeling that he'd been run over by a truck.

Thank god for Sundays.

He sat up slowly, glancing at his laptop beside him. It had come close to falling off the edge of the bed during the night! He carefully pushed it away from the edge, and stood up on wobbly legs. He took a long hot shower and shoved something down his throat before he realized that it was long past noon.

"Crap," he muttered, looking around the house. He still had so much to do. The laundry, the dishes, and he should probably go grocery shopping...

...but then again, his laptop was so much closer than any of those things.

Before Alfred knew it, he was back on omegle, staring at the familiar:

_"Care to RP?"_

Alfred didn't think anything of the feeling of deja-vu of the RP he had just the night before, because so many people started role plays like that. So instead of focusing on the unimportant, he asked to be the cap (as per the usual) and set about typing replies.

As the roleplay progressed, however, he began to notice little things. The person had the same cynical humor as the one the previous night. Their way of writing for Stark was the same as well, and most importantly, they kept spelling it "c-o-l-o-u-r."

Alfred couldn't help himself. _"((Hey,))" _he typed, pausing the role play for a bit. _"((Did you RP with me last night? It was where Tony and Steve were fighting over shoes and the color purple.))"_

The person replied immediately._ "((Ah! So I thought! Yes, it is the same person. I was sure that you were my Cap, but it didn't seem like I should bring it up.))"_

Alfred gasped aloud. It was the person!_ "((Of course you should have! Do you wanna exchange emails or skype so we can RP more?))"_

_"((Sure. My email is Kirkland22B and my skype is TeaHog.))"_

Alfred smiled, quickly jumping to skype.

_"Okay,"_ he typed. _"I'm ditching the parenthesis 'cause they're annoying. But I'm sending you a contact request. My name is Will_Eagle_For_Freedom."_

The other person accepted the request within seconds. Their profile picture popped up, and Alfred was shocked to see another man. He'd been expecting a teenage girl, which wasn't as creepy as it sounded because he was very, very gay. All the same, it shocked him. Even more so to find out that he lived in New York, which was only a hop skip and a jump to northern New Jersey, where he was.

_"You're American?"_ He typed, ignoring the don't-be-a-creeper-on-the-internet laws. It was lucky he wasn't typing: "YOU'RE A DUDE?!"

_"No," _came the resolute answer. _"I'm English, but I moved here recently for work. I'm actually more surprised that you're a man."_

Alfred laughed. Well, at least he knew he could speak freely. _"Yeah I was sure you were a teenage chick." _

_"Disappointed, pervert?"_

Alfred laughed harder. Maybe the Tony-Stark-Sass hadn't been an act._ "No, not at all."_

_"That's a bit gay, mate."_

Alfred's laughter died. Was that sarcasm? They'd just spent the past hour and the previous night pretending to be two gay guys. Surely, one would assume that was a bright rainbow neon sign?

_"Uh, yeah."_

The answer was quick, and it cleared up very few things. _"Just checking. So, want to continue where we left off?"_

They did. It was a wonderful RP, and before either of them knew it, four in the morning had passed and Alfred was starting to feel dizzy. He glanced down at the clock and had a heart attack.

_"DUDE,"_ he typed out. _"It's 5AM AGAIN! I have work in two hours! I have GOT to go!"_

The reply was just as he expected. _"Tch. Irresponsible. But go get some sleep. Goodnight."_

Alfred was offline in seconds, and he dove under the blankets, ignoring basic hygiene in attempt to catch some sleep.

...

Alfred promised himself that he would never, never stay up late on a Sunday night ever again.

"Man," Gilbert laughed, pushing his way through the cramped backroom to get to Alfred. "You look like some serious shit."

Alfred glared up at him from where he was sitting on an overturned crate, and nursed his coffee. "Shut up, man."

Gilbert sat next to him on the floor. "You know, laser tag won't run itself."

"Yes it will," Alfred sighed, inhaling the sweet scent of cheap caffeine. "A few people might run into each other or hold the gun backwards but for the most part it runs itself."

Gilbert chuckled, eying Alfred.

"But seriously," he said, red eyes narrowing. "Did you get into weed last night or are you just naturally that ugly?"

Alfred spluttered. "Dude! Not cool. Just because you do it doesn't mean everyone does! And I'm hot as shit!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Sure you are. But you still haven't told me why you're fucked up."

Alfred sighed, and took a large gulp of coffee. It burned his throat. "I was just up late last night, no big deal."

Alfred was open about a lot of things, but one thing he would not admit to is the fact that he'd spent the last two days acting out a gay Captain America.

"Oh..." Gilbert drawled, a large, knowing grin that looked suspiciously like a smirk taking over his features. "Who's the lucky guy?"

Coffee almost sprayed from Alfred's nostril. "It's not a guy!"

"You're blushing."

Alfred hid his face in one of his hands. He was only running on two hours of sleep, he couldn't handle this right now.

"Whatever, man," Gilbert said, standing up. "I'll let you be for the next like, two minutes of your break. But when you get back, _you _have to run the front desk."

Alfred groaned, and fell back against the wall. Why was his life so hard?

…

_"Hello. How was work?"_

It was the message he woke up to, around eight o' clock at night. He groaned. His little nap had been welcome a few hours ago, but now he wouldn't be able to sleep!

_"Screw you." _Alfred typed, hoping the other person didn't take him to seriously. _"I just woke up. I feel like crap."_

_"It serves you right, it was your own fault."_

Alfred snorted. _"Who are you, my mother?"_

_"Belt up. Where do you work, anyway?"_

That particular night, no role playing was done. Alfred found himself laughing along with the witty humor of the man on the other side of the computer. He learned that his name was Arthur, and that he was a columnist for the New York Times, which was probably where he got his amazing writing skill. He was so lost in the conversation that he didn't glance at the clock until the parting message flashed across the screen.

_"Listen, mate, it's been great but I think we both need some sleep. It's already midnight."_

Alfred gaped. So it was. Really, where did the time go?

* * *

**Hello and welcome to my 3shot! This was inspired by the wonderful ****_thenameisiggykirkland. _****She's great when it comes to ideas. **

**I promise there won't be any unnecessary superhusbands. I chose that particular pairing because I feel like it suits our two dorks. **

**Sorry for any mistakes, I'm American!**

**-Mallory**


	2. Chapter 2

It's not like he planned it. It just happened. Those late-night role plays slowly trickled away. They weren't Captain Steve Rogers and Tony Stark anymore. They were just Alfred and Arthur, and Al couldn't bring himself to complain.

His atrocious sleeping patterns didn't get any better, however. Streams of constant conversations between him and Arthur replaced the weakening role plays. Conversation shifted from fandom and shipping (which Alfred decided he would never fully understand.) Instead they talked about how their day had gone, their pet peeves, and their annoying relatives. They talked about which season was the best, which month, and when their birthdays were.

It was only a matter of time before one of them suggested it.

_ "Want to do a video call?"_

Alfred, in later times, wouldn't be able to remember who was the first to suggest it. Either way, he remembered his heart pounding in his chest as someone agreed. He felt like a complete moron. They talked all the time. What is so scary about talking to a face?

The screen blinked, and he numbly heard the skype-dial up noise in the background. He needed to get himself together. It was just a call. It was just Arthur. It wasn't a big deal.

"Hey."

Alfred's eyes shot up, and there he was. His camera was actually pretty decent, and Alfred could tell that the man's eyes were quite lively. He wasn't exactly smiling, it was more of a smirk, if Alfred was completely honest. Arthur was propped up on his elbows, probably laying out in his bed. He was wearing a white button-up and some sort of undershirt. That made Alfred feel extremely under-dressed, which was ridiculous, because he had every right to sit at home in a T-shirt and sweat pants if he so desired.

"Can you speak, or should we just go back to typing...?" Arthur asked. His accent twisted his words wonderfully.

"No! No, I can talk. It's all good. I'm just tired."

Arthur chuckled, shifting so he could adjust his lap top screen. "You don't look tired at all. Besides, it's only half past midnight. You stay up much later than this all the time."

Alfred pressed his lips together. "Your accent is distracting me."

Arthur seemed to decide that the angle on his laptop was satisfactory, and he plopped his head back into his hand. "My accent? How so?"

Alfred fumbled with something on his bedside table, not really looking at the screen. God, he looked so shabby and Arthur looked really great...

"I always read your messages in an American accent. This is weird."

Arthur laughed again. Alfred liked the sound of it. "Well, I read your messages in an English accent, so I suppose we're even."

After that, everything just went back to usual. Alfred stopped fumbling with things in his room and instead relaxed into the conversation, telling Arthur about the prank Gilbert pulled on the customers that day, and how he'd almost been blamed for it. Arthur laughed along with him as he explained his manager's face when the ketchup trap was sprung. Arthur talked about how his oldest brother would be coming to New York soon, and how he was not very happy about it.

"He's not too bad, though. Better than Scott."

It was nice to be able to explain that he was just getting a snack, instead of typing an unfeeling 'brb.'

He liked being able to watch Arthur switch tabs, scroll through something and then return to skype, never breaking conversation. He liked watching the man puff out his cheeks at a rude email, and he liked watching him blush every now and again, for whatever reason.

"Bloody hell," Arthur said, catching Al off guard. "I forgot about the sports column..."

Alfred sat up straighter. "Sports column? I thought you said you only did foreign affairs and liberal opinions."

Arthur shrugged. "Becky was going off about how 'creative juices are worn by repetition' and she had us switch up our topics for the week. Of course I got sports. I know nothing about American football or baseball."

Alfred smiled. "Well, you know me! I was really into sports as a kid. Not so much anymore, but I can tell you who's who and what team you should talk smack about."

Arthur's eyes widened. He quickly clicked a few pages on his computer, what, Alfred wouldn't know, and then looked back up.

"Alfred, you're a lifesaver. Tell me about this week's...scores. I suppose."

…

Their instant messaging didn't vanish, but their video calls became more and more frequent. Alfred soon grew used to the lop-sided smile, the messy blonde hair, and the way his thick eyebrows drew together in frustration. They began to bicker, and bicker often. The fought over whose day was worse, whose relatives were more annoying, and which season or month was the best. They argued about music. They argued about language. They just argued.

"Dude!" Alfred gasped, appalled. "You mean to tell me that you've _never _seen The Breakfast Club?"

Arthur's lower lip protruded, and his eyebrows dipped down. "Isn't it a chick flic? What's the big deal?"

"It's _classic! _You have to watch it! What about Interview With A Vampire?"

Arthur clicked something on his computer, as he often did when he didn't feel in the mood for an argument. "I've read the book."

"But the movie is _great! _Oh, please tell me that you've seen Star Wars. _Please._"

Arthur scrolled down a page. He mumbled something unintelligible. "Yep. That's nice, Alfred."

"_Are you ever listening to me?" _Alfred shouted, wishing he could shake Arthur's shoulder. Wishing he could just snap his fingers in front of his face. Something.

"Not really, no. What's so special about movies?"

"Movies are great! Filmology is great! They're powerful, and meaningful, and they just leave you raw."

Arthur looked up, his eyes going wider than usual. "That was rather deep, Alfred. Is something the matter?"

Alfred huffed. "No! I can have my deep sides! When I'm passionate about something then I tend to go into detail, that's all"

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he didn't click back to whatever tab had been so interesting before. "Only you could be this passionate about films."

Alfred felt his hand go to his heart in a gesture of mock-hurt, and he began his rant. "Movies are amazing! What's better than curling up under a big warm quilt, on the floor with your back against the sofa and watching a movie in the dark with someone, a bowl of popcorn between you?"

Arthur's mouth made the slightest little "o" shape for a bit. His eyes seemed a little out of focus, and when he finally did come back down to Earth, his voice was quiet.

"Sounds like a fantasy between two lovers, to me."

Alfred sat back from the computer. He hadn't noticed that he was inching close to the screen. "Oh, well I uh...I never thought about it that way."

That was a lie. Alfred thought about it a lot 'that way.' He was a complete dork for movies, and nothing suited him better than being able to share great films with someone he loved. Cuddling into the darkness, just being with the person...

Alfred stared through the pixels, and just pictured Arthur with him. On the floor of his tiny apartment, carting his hand through Alfred's hair, barely paying any attention to the movie making noise in the background. Alfred's heart thumped loudly in his chest.

He hadn't wanted the fantasy to go that far. He hadn't wanted to think about it at all.

But now he had. And he was in deep, deep shit.

…

"Oh my god," Gilbert said, his eyes lighting up dangerously. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Alfred blushed crimson, and tried to pull in on himself like a turtle would into it's shell. "No!" He protested.

Gilbert laughed. "Oh my god, you absolute _loser! _You've never even talked to him face to face!"

"Exactly!" Alfred shouted. "That's why I can't be in love with him. I mean, god. We've only been talking for a few months..."

Gilbert shook his head, fiddling through the cash in the register. "Man, it's been nearly half a year, at least. I know because you haven't shut up about him since...what do you call it? The 'movie fantasy incident'?"

Alfred dropped his head onto the counter. "Oh god," he groaned. "I can't really be in love, can I?"

Gilbert snorted. "Dude. I know his favorite color, his hobbies, and probably a very accurate description of what he looks like just from _listening _to your constant babble."

Alfred groaned again. Gilbert was right. About everything. He was in love with Arthur. And he was a complete loser. Arthur didn't like him that way. He constantly put him down, called him annoying and hopeless and stupid...

_But then why would he keep talking to you?_

"What am I supposed to do, Gil?"

Gilbert snapped to cash register shut with a click. "I dunno, why're you asking me? Figure it out yourself. Or at least meet him in person and stop being so un-awesome."

Alfred's head peeked out from where it was resting in his arms. "You mean like, hang out with him?"

Gilbert sighed. "You're done for."

* * *

**Okay, first of all: WOW.**

**Thank you guys so much! I never expected this story to catch on so quickly, and I'm really glad you guys like it! If you have any critique, however, feel free to throw some at me. I don't bite.**

**Second: Thanks again to thenameisiggykirkland for providing even more inspiration.**

**Sorry for any mistakes! I'm American!**

**-Mallory**


	3. Chapter 3

He took a deep breath. He could do this. It was easy. He'd done it a million other times with countless other friends. There was no reason to be scared. For god's sake, he was the embodiment of courage! A true hero!

But he was terrified.

"Alfred, are you quite alright?" Arthur asked, his stupid eyebrows soaring up and his stupid eyes gleaming with concern.

Alfred hated his stupid face. He coughed a few times, and then tried for a watery smile, which came out as more of a grimace than anything else.

"Alfred? What's wrong?"

Alfred stared at his hands. If he looked anywhere else, he'd chicken out. "Um," he began eloquently. "Do you want to...you know..."  
Arthur raised an eyebrow, the concern falling from his face. "No, you dolt, I don't know. I'm not psychic."

Alfred gulped, and then looked at the screen. "Do you want to hang out?" He blurted.

Arthur blushed, his eyes going quite wide and his mouth dropping down just slightly. Alfred, of course, was already looking away, and did not witness his reaction.

"L-like meet? In person?"

Alfred immediately regretted even bringing up the topic, and he looked up at the computer, but not at Arthur's face. "It's not like you have to! I totally understand if you're like weirded out by it! It's no big deal, dude!"

Arthur bit at his lip, his eyes scanning his keyboard. "No, it's not that. I just wasn't expecting..." he paused, and then inhaled at length.

"I'd love to meet up, Al."

…

Alfred was going to die. It was that simple. His stomach was going to explode, releasing the traipsing elephants that were dancing inside it into the streets, and Alfred was going to die. He briefly wondered who would attend his funeral, and what his obituary would say.

"Man killed by his own stupidity."

Alfred sighed, toeing the ground with the edge of his converse. He's changed outfits so many times that day, it was amazing he'd even made it out the door. First he dressed to the nines, a tie and everything, and then he realized that he hated ties and ditched that idea all together. So he went for casual, but had gone a little too overboard, and then changed again.

Currently, he was in jeans and a nice navy button-down shirt which was covered by his trusty bomber jacket, but he wouldn't have been surprised if his outfit changed in the next hour.

He wasn't sure how he'd exactly manage that, though, because Arthur was due to arrive any minute.

Speak of the devil.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Arthur rounded the corner of the little souvenir shop they'd agreed to meet at. It had been a long drive for both of them, choosing to meet halfway in the middle of Northern Jersey, and Arthur's hair was tousled from the drive. (Or, maybe it was always like that?)

Besides that, he looked amazing, and Alfred assumed he had dressed only once that morning, like a normal person. (He was, of course, wrong in this assumption.)

Arthur had pulled on a shirt with the words"MUSIC" printed in fancy script across it. His jeans were torn, which shocked Alfred greatly, and his shoes were just plain black sneakers. His jacket was black leather.

"Hello," Alfred tried, ignoring the way his voice shook.

"Right, well, hello," Arthur replied, looking nervous himself.

Oh god, he probably thought Alfred was going to rape him or drug him or something. He definitely thought that. Alfred was a terrible person. He should just turn himself in to the police, there was no use fighting it.

"So, do you want to eat lunch first or should we head straight to the park?"

Alfred envied Arthur's ease at the question, and quietly reminded himself that he was _not_, in fact, planning to rape or drug Arthur any time soon, and gave a nervous chuckle.

"Lunch sounds good."

…

Arthur knew a nice restaurant in the area. They headed to it, not talking too much on the way there. Alfred had to stifle a sigh of relief when the tiny thing came into sight. It had a beautiful garden out front, and was clearly a mom-and-pop business. The outdoor seating was as inviting as ever, even in the somewhat brisk air of starting autumn.

They chose to sit outside, on the patio surrounded by large oaks. It was all quite surreal, like it had been peeled from a romance novel and taped into real life.

N-not that it was romantic or anything!

The woman serving them was named Elizabeta, and she had a large smile and beautiful brown curls that hung at her shoulders. One of the garden's flowers was tucked behind her ear.

"Could I start you out with something to drink?"

They ordered what they will, and Alfred felt as if time was trickling by like honey. "So..." He started, tracing the pattern of the metal table and shifting in the matching seat.

"Oh! I never got to finish telling you the story about the time Scot sent me up to the attic, did I?" Arthur asked, his expression so open and innocent.

"No," Alfred agreed, clamping down the fond smile that was trying to contort his lips. "You had to go to work."

Arthur laughed. "Well, it all began rather funnily, actually. It started when he told me about the wolves..."

…

Alfred was dead. He'd died and gone to heaven. He couldn't imagine why, exactly, but he wasn't going to question it. He was too happy to care. His stomach was pleasantly full, the wind was caressing his cheek, and every so often Arthur's hand would brush his own as they walked slowly through the park. (And the hand-brushing, both of them would assure you, was completely incidental.)

The trees were all just beginning to turn, and every so often a leaf would sweep by, waving at Alfred as it went. Arthur was currently talking animatedly. He seemed to be complaining about something, Alfred wasn't entirely sure. His mind had long lost the ability to process English, and he was only reveling in Arthur's expressions and his dancing eyes.

As Arthur spoke, a leaf drifted down into his hair, and he was apparently too caught up in the one-sided conversation to notice.

Alfred easily reached up and plucked it out. It was such a natural thing for him to do. He felt like he was underwater, his actions just flowing into one another, his body light and buoyant and completely relaxed under the waves.

Arthur had stopped speaking. He was looking at Alfred with a complicated expression, which said more than Alfred cared to think about.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Not a problem."

…

It was not the last time that Alfred and Arthur met up. They might have been four hours apart, but they kept at it. In the beginning, they met in the middle, both of them driving out two hours to vague locations around the area.

Then they started splitting the hours oddly, as one of them wanted to take another to a certain area, like the bookstore Arthur was so fond of with the spiraling architecture or the bowling alley Alfred frequented with Gilbert and Matthew.

Finally, the hours were completely knocked aside. Alfred visited Arthur's cozy home that rested outside the city.

It had only one bedroom, a small kitchen and one bath. But the yard was lovely, and it reminded him of the restaurant they went to the first time they went. They drank lemonade on the minuscule back porch and watched bluebirds bathe in the fountain. Alfred loved Arthur's house. It was small, but when the windows were open it smelled like heaven. Light always drifted in, and the old television sometimes crackled when it was left on too long. The poor stove had scorch marks on it from repeated misuse, and the teakettle whistled a bit too loudly, but it was perfect, and Alfred wished for nothing more.

Then Arthur finally came over to Alfred's apartment, and they sat on the floor, their backs against the couch, under a large quilt. Alfred educated Arthur in the ways of good movies, and Arthur educated him in how much he didn't care.

Afterward, though, when it was so very late, and the end of _The Godfather _was playing in the background, Arthur shifted just two inches. They were pressed up together, both having been inching closer to the other since the first movie had been played. Arthur slowly laid his head on Alfred's shoulder, as if he could do it so slowly that Alfred wouldn't notice.

But notice he did. He tensed at first, knowing that this was quite probably crossing that terribly thin line they'd drawn in the sand almost a year and a half ago.

He didn't care.

He twisted, so his face was right in front of Arthur's. Arthur was smiling, so beautifully smiling, because he knew exactly what was to come.

"Arthur, I'm in love with you."

Arthur laughed once, a strange, strangled sort of gasp, and threw his arms around Alfred's neck.

They kissed until morning, the credits finally running out of names to scroll, and Alfred was so very happy that he's stayed up that night to role play a gay Captain America and his friend, sassy Tony Stark.

* * *

**The end! This was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoyed! **

**I think you'll be happy to know that Alfred eventually moves in with Arthur, and they buy two parakeets. They of course name them Cap and Tony. **

**I'm gonna be honest here, I never thought I'd get so much feedback so quickly on this story. I mean, within the first hour of posting it I'd already had a million favorites, so thanks so so much!**

**Sorry for any mistakes, I'm American!**

**-Mallory**


End file.
